


You're headed for a breakdown, be careful not to show it

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Celebrities, Doctor Merlin, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Panic Attacks, blood phobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: He sidled along row H to his chair, and then stopped abruptly. Because the seat was already occupied; some dude in a baseball cap was sitting there, studiously avoiding eye contact by examining his program.Frowning, Merlin glanced down at his ticket. Yes, H3. The guy definitely was sitting in his chair.





	You're headed for a breakdown, be careful not to show it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunnysworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnysworld/gifts).



> Um, well. Funny story. Inspired by true events... with apologies to the extraordinarily gracious Bunnysworld, victim of my own unreliability, and thanks to the angels at the Box Office at a certain north London theatre... Additional thanks to Tari_Sue, Clea2011, Merlocked18 and lfb72 for the encouragement. 
> 
> The title is from "Gloria" by Laura Branigan. This story fills the "secret identity discovered" square on my hurt/comfort bingo card. Disclaimer: not my characters, I'm not getting paid.
> 
> Rated teen and up for cussing.

“So tell me, Arthur.” Gwen Smith leans in towards him, with her most conspiratorial air, honed after many years of _Saturday Night with Gwen!_   She’s been handed this coup (she'll thank her amazing production assistant, Lancelot, properly later!). It's the juiciest celebrity mystery of the past few years. “You’ve been dating Dr. Emrys for nearly two years now." She waves at the slightly dazed-looking man sitting next to Arthur on her famous purple couch. "Maybe you can clear something up for our viewers?”

“Ah, I think I know where this is going!” Arthur laughs and flashes one of his celebrated, Hollywood _fourth wall_ grins at the camera before settling back down onto the sofa, his hand nestled snugly in Merlin’s.

It's met with a collective sigh, because Arthur has one of the most bankable smiles in the business. 

“Go on. It’ll be our secret. Just between you and me. And our lovely studio audience here.” Smiling sweetly back, Gwen gestures towards the auditorium, which erupts in cheers and wolf whistles as the camera pans across them. “Just how did the two of you meet? We promise we won’t tell, don’t we?” This last is directed towards the audience, and is met with scattered applause and chuckles.

“Don’t we?” She flaps her hands upwards, in a gesture designed to make audiences cheer louder. It works, of course. Of course it does. She is at the top of her game, and the British public love her. It also helps she has the best A list celebrities on her show. And the best gossip. She can thank Lancelot, for that. And frequently does. Off camera, obviously. In the privacy of her green room. With, she might add, great flair and imagination.

“Well.” Pinking visibly, even under all the TV make-up, Merlin bites his lip and exchanges a long look with his boyfriend. “It’s a long story.”

He’s so cute! Gwen just wants to pinch his little cheeks!  

“Well, get on with it, Merlin, we don’t have all night!” Arthur nudges him. "He must be feeling ill today, Gwen. I normally can't get him to shut up!" 

“Hey!” Merlin pokes Arthur in the ribs until he doubles over with laughter. "Just because I'm not a great big show-off who hogs the limelight and eats fangirls for breakfast..."

"I'll have _you_ for breakfast!" 

They're adorable together, really they are, but the clock is ticking and she needs to get this story out of them. 

"I'm sure that's a delicious way to start the day," she says, smirking at the camera. "But as this is a family show, perhaps you could tell us how you met instead?" 

Her guests and the audience erupt in adoring laughter. 

"Right you are," says Merlin. "Um. Basically. It was all my friend Gwaine’s fault. It usually is…”

 

***

 

TWO YEARS EARLIER 

 

***

 

“It’s meant to be a great play. You’ll love it.” Gwaine clapped Merlin on the shoulder so hard that he winced. “Here’s your ticket, mate.”

“Cheers, mate.” Merlin clutched the ticket, hardly able to believe that he’d finally made it here.

This was the final night of _Excelsis_ , the gritty drama that had all of North London on the edge of their seats for the last six weeks, and the first time that Merlin had not been working. Gwaine had bought Merlin’s ticket, because of a mix-up with Merlin’s bank card expiry that he hadn’t noticed because he’d been on nights at the time.

He would have been gutted to miss the performance for such a trivial reason as an expired bank card. The opportunity to see TV idol Percival Hopper, and his muscles, _close up_ , was just too good to pass up. Gwaine had already been to the play, twice, and was still coming back for a third ogle, so it must be good. Besides which, the reviews had been universally complimentary.

“No sweat.” Gwaine swigged the dregs of his gin and tonic and winked. “See you in the interval, ok? And try not to swoon when Percy takes his shirt off.”

“I don’t swoon. I’m not a medieval maiden, you know!” protested Merlin. “Besides which, I won’t be the only one.”

He’d already seen the packs of marauding fangirls clogging up the atrium and theatre bars. The queues for the ladies’ loos snaked round the box office area, filled with excited chatter. Women of all ages, and a small number of their long-suffering partners, were wandering around wearing “I [HEART] Percival Hopper” T-shirts and carrying _Centurion_ handbags.

“I bet you do though,” Gwaine snorted.

“No way! The only thing that has a chance of making me swoon is if I spot Arthur Pendragon in the audience as well.” Merlin gazed imploringly at the ceiling. “Please God let him be here!”

“Now that’ll be the day.” With a toss of his glossy locks, Gwaine slammed the rest of his drink down on the bar. “Hollywood's finest princess hasn’t been seen in the UK for weeks.”

“Yeah, I know.” Merlin sighed. Of all the actors in _Centurion,_ the steamy gay romance story that was currently in its fourth season of electrifying Channel 4’s Sunday evenings, Arthur was his favourite. “It’s probably just as well. I think if he turned up, I would actually die of excitement.”

Just then, the bell rang, meaning that they had two minutes left until the start of the show. Not wanting to be late, Merlin set off towards his seat, H3, anticipation growing. Gwaine had bought him this ticket at the last possible minute, so it didn’t have the best view in the theatre. It was off to one side, and part way back in the stalls. But that was all right. He was just glad to be there, with maybe a chance to get Percival’s signature at the stage door after the show. If he was lucky.

He sidled along row H to his chair, and then stopped abruptly. Because the seat was already occupied; some dude in a baseball cap was sitting there, studiously avoiding eye contact by examining his program.

Frowning, Merlin glanced down at his ticket. Yes, H3. The guy definitely was sitting in his chair. Merlin pushed past the first two chairs and cleared his throat.

“Ahem.”

The guy had to know Merlin was there. Their knees were practically touching, for God’s sake! But he didn’t look up; instead his face remained obscured by the rim of his hat as he tapped the program with one impatient looking finger.

“Ahem!” said Merlin, a little louder, feeling a little indignant. Time was running out, damn it, and he didn’t want to miss curtain up! And this prat not only had the gall to steal his seat, but was now ignoring him! “Excuse me!”

“Do you mind?” hissed the baseball cap, looking up.

Holy Jamoley! In his shock, Merlin nearly fell over the seat back of the row in front. It was only Arthur fucking Pendragon. Arthur! Percival's co-star on  _Centurion_ and, Merlin had to admit, also star of several of his most lurid and explicit fantasies. Bumping Merlin’s knees with his own and, come to mention it, not looking at all pleased.

Merlin lifted a trembling finger to point.

“You’re…” and then his voice petered out, because Arthur was glowering at him, and now he thought about it, Merlin realised that he probably didn’t want to be recognised. “Um.”

“Oi!” yelled someone further back. “Get out of the way!”

“I say, old chap, do sit down,” said someone else, in the sort of posh voice that only existed in theatres. And 1950s BBC radio.

But Merlin couldn’t. His seat was taken. He looked around for an empty chair, frustrated.

“Um, look,” he said, turning back to Arthur, heart going off like a firework display under the scrutiny of Arthur’s stare, which was somehow both cold, and, at the same time, extraordinarily hot, in a different way. “I’m really sorry, but I think you might be - that is, I’m pretty sure, um, this is my… um chair, you know?”

With a put-upon glare that sent actual shivers tingling down Merlin’s spine, Arthur examined his own ticket.

“H3,” Arthur mouthed, brandishing it as evidence. Dear God, his eyes really were a very bright shade of blue. 

"Snap." God. it was him. It was definitely him. Merlin’s knees felt suddenly quite weak, even as he showed Arthur his own ticket.

“You idiot,” muttered Arthur, shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable now. As well he might be, given the number of eyes and disapproving tuts that were being directed at him from other members of the audience. He pointed at the ticket. “Look. Your ticket is a month out of date!”

"What?"

A month out of date? Merlin snatched both tickets and examined them, shame blossoming across his face, as he confirmed that he was a month late. Bloody Gwaine. Merlin was going to kill the wanker.

“Um, sorry,” said Merlin, biting his lip against the humiliation.

And that might have been that, if it hadn’t been for Arthur’s inability to leave well alone, and Merlin’s infernal temper.

“Huh. Well, you really are imbecilic, aren't you? Now do everyone a favour and fuck right off!” grumbled Arthur. “Twat.”

“Well, there’s no need to be a prat about it!” Merlin retorted, loudly, stung, ignoring the inner, very British part of him that was screaming at him to leave the poor man alone. “Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you get to…”

“For the love of God, will you please shut up!” said Arthur, through gritted teeth and clenched jaw. “They’ll notice me!”

But it was too late. Someone in the audience shouted out Arthur’s name.

"Oh, fuck." Arthur groaned. "Now look what you've done. So much for my quiet evening. Thanks a bunch."

In the ensuing commotion, squealing, and flurry of autograph hunters, Merlin guiltily slipped away - with Arthur’s hate-filled glare burning a hole in the back of his head as he went.  Thankfully the lady on the box office was very understanding and changed his ticket without charge. He slid into his new seat with moments to spare, ready to watch the whole thing from an even closer vantage than Gwaine. No harm done. Well, not to Merlin anyway.

He did spare a thought for poor Arthur, though. For a split second.

But then Percy was on stage, muscles and all, at which point no more thoughts were available for sparing.

***

The program had hinted that something shocking might occur just before the interval. But so clever was the whole production - and so distracting were Percival’s muscles - that Merlin became wholly immersed in the show. So, when the sly dialog and snappy quips were interrupted by gunshots that gave way to shocking amounts of gore, Merlin nearly jumped out of his seat. Together with much of the rest of the audience, if the loud gasps and shrieks were anything to go by. As no doubt the playwright intended.

Percival clutched his hand to his extremely manly chest even as gallons of fake blood cascaded across the stage. The curtain went down, and the theatre was plunged into darkness. The audience whooped and hollered and screamed, applauding loudly. Merlin joined them, cheering and thudding his feet against the floor. Wow! He couldn’t wait to see how act two would unfold.

His heart was still thumping as he stood to look around for the gents loo. He was just hoping to catch up with Gwaine for a quick gin and tonic in the theatre bar before the second act, when he noticed a growing noies developing behind him. He turned, to see several people crowding around near the chair where he’d left Arthur Pendragon, autograph books at the ready. But then one of them screamed.

“Is there a doctor in the house?” another one cried. "Help! Quick!"

Merlin gulped and looked around, hoping that someone else would step in. He was only a junior doctor, after all. And although this sort of thing happened all the time, he knew it did, but had never happened to _him_ before.

“Doctor!” someone else squeaked. “We need a doctor! Somebody find a doctor! Quick!”

Finally admitting to himself that no-one else was going to help, Merlin waved.

“Erm. I’m a doctor? What seems to be the problem?” Letting instinct take over, he stepped carefully over chair backs towards the milling crowd, who parted unwillingly to let him through only when he used some judicious elbow action.

“I dunno,” sobbed a girl with bright blue hair. “He says he can’t breathe.”

“Who? Stand back and give the poor bloke some room.” Frowning, Merlin pushed through them, ignoring the muttered speculation and gossip ( _“is he high?” “I dunno!” “overdose?”_ ) and the flash of mobile phone cameras. “I said stand aside! Please!”

Suddenly, the crowd opened up. There, upon the seat that Merlin had earlier thought was his, sat Arthur Pendragon - chest heaving, hand fluttering towards his throat.

“Did he faint?” Merlin’s professional eye took in the dilated pupils and rapid breathing, and immediately thought of panic attacks and hyperventilation. “Anyone?”

Everyone gazed at him as if struck dumb.

“Fat lot of good you lot are.” He turned his attention to the patient and took his wrist, adopting his most reassuring expression. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’m a doctor. I’m going to get rid of this lot and we’ll get you sorted out in no time.”

“I can’t…” whispered Arthur. His chest was heaving, and his lips looked dry. His pulse was skyrocketing. He had turned very pale, and his skin felt cold to the touch.

“I can help you.” Merlin looked up at the sea of eager faces. “All right, you lot, it’s not part of the show. Stop gawking and get out of here. You!” He singled out a couple of sensible-looking middle-aged women, who were hovering anxiously a couple of rows back. “Get security to clear the room. And bring me a paper bag.”

“Should I call an ambulance?” said another woman. It was a sensible suggestion.

“Have you taken anything today, Arthur?” he whispered, as quietly as he could so that the gawkers could not hear. “Drugs, alcohol? Does your chest hurt? Your head?”

Arthur shook his head.

“Okay. Not just yet,” he decided. “Good suggestion, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary. Just clear this place out for now. Give the poor man some privacy.” He turned back to his patient. “Arthur,” he said in a quiet but decisive voice that he’d learned calmed patients down. “Trust me. I am a doctor. You’re going to be fine. Now, we’re going to breath together. In, out. In out. You’re hyperventilating, which is making you panic. We just need to regulate your breathing and you’ll be right as rain.”

He was relieved to see that a stern-faced woman wearing a yellow reflective jacket, with SECURITY plastered across it, had arrived, and started to usher everyone away. Ignoring them all, he placed a sympathetic arm around Arthur’s heaving shoulders, held onto Arthur’s wrist with the other hand, and breathed with him.

“Breathe in… through your nose. Put your hand on your belly, here.” He guided Arthur’s hand to a spot just below his ribs. “Now, count to five, as you breathe in, and try to use your breath to make your belly push out as you breathe in. Try to keep your chest still…”

Arthur gasped in a panicked breath, his throat sounding harsh and pained.

“Slowly!” said Merlin, hastily. “Much slower than that. Try again. Breathe in for five. One... two... three... four... five. Good. Now out again. This time, purse your lips to breathe out, and try to push the air out with your belly. You can feel your belly move under your hand. Slowly does it. Count to five, out through your mouth, that’s it. That’s it. In… two, three, four, five…. and out. Does anyone have that paper bag?” If the belly breathing didn’t work, then a paper bag should help.  

The security guard obligingly handed him a bag that had previously contained a theatre program. He crumpled it up. Gently, he placed the top of the bag over Arthur’s mouth and nose, encouraging Arthur to make a rough seal with his hand.

“That’s it. Breath into this. Great. Continue breathing slowly, Arthur, but into the bag. In and out. In through your nose. It will help to reset your blood carbon dioxide levels so you stop hyperventilating. Count to five as you breathe in. One… two… three… four… five and exhale for five. That’s it!”

Arthur obediently breathed, eyes locked onto Merlin’s as he did. Even the security guard had slipped out by now. The murmur of the crowd had subsided. The only sound was the crackle of the bag as it inflated and deflated, to the accompaniment of Merlin’s voice, counting out loud.

“I’m really sorry, you know,” said Merlin, between breaths. He carried on talking in a calm voice, holding onto Arthur’s wrist all the while to check that his pulse was indeed settling and his breathing was beginning to be less panicked. “In… out… that’s it. You’re doing really well. Just fine. Anyway, I did want to say sorry about the mix up with the chairs. My credit card ran out, you see. In… out… that’s it, keep going. Good. Anyway, I’ve been so busy at work. Junior doctor, you see. We’re short staffed. Thank you Jeremy Hunt. In… out…”

Arthur’s pulse was definitely slowing now, thank God.

“You’re doing just fine. Good. Anyway, my friend Gwaine, he’s the one that got me the ticket, he’s not exactly Mr Reliable… in… two… three… four… five… and out, that’s it. Erm, he says Jeremy Hunt should be called ill-health secretary, not health secretary. Hahaha. Erm. Gwaine got me the ticket, I should have known better in retrospect. Why neither of us checked the date, I have no idea.”

Abruptly Arthur yanked the bag away from his mouth.

“Do you ever stop talking?” he said. His pulse was down to about eighty, still fast, probably, for a fit man like Arthur, and God, was he fit, but going the right way, and his breathing and colour had returned to normal.

“All part of the service,” quipped Merlin, smiling. “There. How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Frowning, Arthur ran his hand through his hair. “I mean, horribly humiliated, furious at my ruined evening, considering suing the theatre for not having trigger warnings for all that… that… mess… dreading the tabloids tomorrow, but… health wise… fine. I always faint at the sight of blood, but that's the first time it's developed into a full-blown panic attack. And you... That was amazing. Magical, almost. Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome.” Suddenly realising that he was still holding Arthur’s wrist, Merlin cleared his throat and let it drop onto Arthur’s lap. “As a doctor, of course, I would advise you to visit your GP and ask for a referral for counselling to help you with the blood phobia and panic attacks. But I don’t see any reason why you should not enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Thanks.” Arthur flashed him a lopsided smile that lit up his face and set his eyes sparkling in the dim interval lights.

Merlin blinked. Now it was Merlin’s turn to suffer from a racing pulse, because, Dear God! The man was even more gorgeous in the flesh than on telly, even if he had just had a panic attack! He was probably the most extraordinarily beautiful man that Merlin had ever met - even more attractive in person than on a big screen.

“I suppose it might be a sensible professional move, as well,” Arthur carried on. “To get some help for the blood phobia, if I’m ever to get any more juicy action roles. But if it’s all the same, I think I’ll give the second act a miss, tonight.”

“Oh.” Merlin grinned back. “I’m sorry. I feel responsible, somehow. Maybe if I hadn’t nearly sat on your lap, the crowds wouldn’t have seen you, and your panic might not have been so bad.

“What, them?” Arthur actually laughed, a joyous sound that rippled through his body and made him double over in a sort of infectious display of delight that made joy surge through Merlin’s veins. Holy crap. He was becoming more infatuated by the second. “If I panicked every time a bunch of fans crowded me, I’d constantly be in and out of hospital. No, it was definitely the blood that did it. And you were… great. I mean it. Thank you.” His eyes softened and held Merlin’s for a heartbeat or two. Or three.

Forget everything he’d told Gwaine. With those blue eyes trained so gratefully on his, Merlin could happily swoon right now.

“Nevertheless,” said Merlin, softly, steeling himself to be brave, because he would never get this chance again, and his mother had always told him to sieze opportunities when they appeared.

He licked his lips as he summoned up the courage to continue. Was he imagining things? Or did Arthur’s gaze flick down to his lips to follow the movement? It was all the encouragement he needed.

“Um. Nevertheless...” Feeling greatly daring, Merlin added, “Would you let me buy you a drink? To apologise? I suddenly find that I also have a limited desire to see act two. And besides which - someone should probably keep an eye on you. Just in case your symptoms return.”

“Hmm.” Arthur’s eyes flicked down again. “You saved me from probable death by asphyxiation, and certain inappropriate mauling. If anything, I should be the one buying the drinks.”

“How about we each buy one drink,” said Merlin, tilting his head on one side. “And take things from there?” He offered Arthur his hand to pull himself out of his chair.

“Fine!” Arthur smiled, making his eyes dance again, a vivid and joyful flash of blue that made Merlin want to sing. “I know a place…”

“Excuse me sir!” It was the security guard. “It’s nearly time for the second act…”

“Don’t worry,” said Arthur, grabbing Merlin’s hand and hauling himself up. “We’re just leaving.”

***

 

***

“It may seem like a far fetched story!” Gwen smirks at her audience. “But there’s photographic evidence…” She turns to the screen by her side.

In mock horror, Arthur watches the screen between splayed fingers as the pictures of that fateful, glorious evening flash up on the screen. Most of the phone wielding fans had focussed on the spectacle of Hollywood A lister Arthur Pendragon struggling to breathe, with one or two catching the skinny frame of the mysterious doctor who shooed them all away and bent over his idol. But the most interesting one was a grainy view of the pair of them scuttling out of a fire exit and into the drizzly North London night.  

“Yeah.” Arthur laughs self-consciously while the studio erupts into spontaneous applause. “Well, I guess you’re probably wondering why I’m happy to come on your show and talk about it. But I want to draw attention to this new foundation that we have set up to help people with anxiety disorders, phobias and panic attacks. You see, there is no need to suffer in silence. Seek help…”

“Of course you do,” interrupts Gwen, tilting her head on one side. “It’s an important cause, thank you on behalf on blood phobics everywhere for drawing attention to it. If you think you might be affected by any of these issues, there will be a fact sheet on the show’s web site about it. But unfortunately, we’re running out of time. And I do still have one more question for you, Arthur. One very, very important question.”

“Of course.” He smiles back at her. It hasn’t been so bad, after all. He’s managed to get his point across, and the audience have been very warm. “What do you need to know?”

“Please.” She leans forward and clasps his hands between both of hers. “Can you get me Percival Hopper’s autograph?”  

***

 

END

 

***

 


End file.
